


crack the shutters

by MisanthropyMuse



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Smut, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Communication (Star Wars), Leaving the Jedi Order (Star Wars), M/M, Morning Cuddles, Morning Sex, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Smut, Top Anakin Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29592723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisanthropyMuse/pseuds/MisanthropyMuse
Summary: SOMEHOW, the clone wars end with a treaty, nothing too bad happened, and Obi-Wan and Anakin can finally get some time off for a much-needed sex vacation on Scarif.This is the story of a peaceful morning of sex, with lots of feelings and inaccurate descriptions of a force bond.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 93





	crack the shutters

**Author's Note:**

> [ *STAR WARS MAIN TITLE PLAYING* ]  
> Somehow, the Sith were destroyed, the Separatists and the Republic found a compromise for peace, and the Jedi Order was disbanded!  
> Now the galaxy is at peace again, and former Jedi are scattered around, acting as independent forces for good, or leading normal lives!  
> Anakin and Obi-Wan have plans to go back to doing right to those in need, but first, they get to a peaceful warm planet and take a much needed vacation!

_“_ _Crack the shutters open wide  
I wanna bathe you in the light of day _ _„_

**_Crack the shutters – Snow Patrol_ **

It’s the sun that wakes him.

Not the beeping of digital chronos, the blaring of an alarm or the sounds of troopers bustling around a camp.

It’s the light of the mid-morning sun that filters through the shutters and fills their bedroom with a soft glow that gently drags Obi-Wan out of sleep.

After a month there, it’s still a surprise to wake up to quiet. The room and the rest of their hut is completely silent except for the sound of Anakin’s light snoring, and from outside comes only the soft rolling of waves breaking against the nearby shore, the chirping of local birds and the rustling of the palm leaves in the sea breeze.

Obi-Wan wakes up slowly, just because he can. He blinks at the light until his eyes adjust, and then moves carefully to disentangle his limbs from Anakin’s without startling him.

Not like it’s hard, anyway. It’s quite admirable how quickly Anakin adjusted his habits to life in peace. He no longer needs to keep vigilant during sleep, so now he rests more deeply and soundly than he ever did before.

(when he’s not shaken by nightmares, of course, which he still fears to be visions)

Still, Obi-Wan makes sure to scoot far enough from his curled up figure before stretching his arms and back, all still deliciously sore from the day before, from the hike through the palm forest and the long swim in the ocean and all the activities that had followed, on the beach and on the dining table and on the bed.

Then, he slowly rolls out of bed to reach the window and open it, letting the morning sun flood the room, along with the smell of sea water and fresh air and sweet flowers. He breathes it all in and a smile blooms on his face as he thinks, _this is what peace tastes like_.

He lets his eyes rest on the landscape of Scarif, along the pale yellow beach disappearing under light blue-green waters that extend to the horizon as far as the eye can see, along the lines of palm trees, their thick crowns casting a lovely dappled shade on the sand, over the silhouette of distant rocky hills and ancient volcanos against the clear blue sky.

He’s pulled back from his observation by a soft whine breaking the quiet, and he turns to see Anakin hide his face into a pillow to shield from the light.

“Good morning, my dear,” says Obi-Wan in an amused huff, and Anakin responds with more unintelligible whining muffled by the pillow.

Looking at him, naked in their bed, Obi-Wan can’t help dwelling on how beautiful he looks, even more than the luscious landscape outside their hut.

Over a month of exposure to the sun, his skin has tanned into the colour of dark honey, bringing out all the warmth of his undertone, and his hair is lighter than it’s been in years, his long curls shining like molten gold in the direct light of the sun. Now that he can rest and eat properly, his body filled out nicely over his ribs, smoothing down lines that had looked dangerously sharp before, and the last of his cuts and bruises has long healed, leaving his skin healthier than ever before.

He vaguely reminds Obi-Wan of some statues he’s seen in palaces on distant worlds, of naked heroes from ancient histories carved out in polished metal that shone the way Anakin does now.

That, until he shuffles to poke an eye out of the pillow and immediately regrets it, turning back down with a groan. That’s no mythological hero, Obi-Wan thinks with a rush of fondness, that’s entirely Anakin, all soft skin and warm breath, human and real. Affection swells in Obi-Wan’s chest, his heart feels preciously tight with it, and suddenly the distance between them becomes unbearable.

It’s a privilege he’ll probably never stop being thankful for, to feel the need to be close to Anakin and not having to hide it and repress it, but to be able to indulge it freely.

He walks away from the open window and the sea breeze seems to push him lightly, like a wave, like a sail, as he crosses the room to get back on the bed and sit up against the cushioned headboard beside Anakin’s head. He reaches over to run a hand through his hair, gently scratching him just behind his ears, and Anakin whines again, but out of pleasure this time, turning his head to lean into Obi-Wan’s hand, like a big sleepy felinx.

Obi-Wan can feel the Force all but purr around him, a warm buzz of satisfaction rippling from Anakin and gently urging him to come closer. Obi-Wan slides down from the headboard and moves to sit on top of Anakin, straddling his hips and leaning over his back to leave butterfly kisses on his neck and shoulders while caressing his sides with his hands. He smiles against his skin as he feels him shiver when he brushes his fingertips near the spots around his waist where he knows him to be ticklish, and he can feel the purring get louder and brighter in the Force as Anakin’s drowsiness fades.

Obi-Wan shifts to press a line of kisses down Anakin’s spine, and he can feel his muscles tense the lower he gets. He scoots down his legs to reach further down, then stops once he reaches the curve of his ass, sending a little wave of uncertainty though their bond, to which Anakin responds by arching his back and tilting his ass up in a silent invitation, his arousal flashing bright red in the Force.

Obi-Wan chuckles softly to himself, silently appreciating Anakin’s endless stamina, even after all the exertion of the day before, before turning his attention back to his body. He moves his knee in between Anakin’s legs to allow him to spread them, and then bends over his ass, spreading his cheeks with his hands and reaching in to drag his tongue ever so slowly in between them.

Anakin’s breath grows heavier as Obi-Wan traces circles on the sensitive skin around his hole, to then turn into a choked moan when Obi-Wan presses the tip of his tongue inside of him. His whole body tenses for a moment, and relaxes as Obi-Wan pushes further. He wiggles his tongue inside a couple of times before pulling out and lapping over his taint with the flat of his tongue, going over the hole again, flicking his tongue at the edge of the skin, to then blow on it to soothe the spots that have been scratched red by his beard.

If he enhances his movements with the Force, making his tongue feel a bit bigger than it is, no one’s there to judge him. Certainly not Anakin, who’s now gasping, grasping the pillow under his head as if his life depended on it and rolling his hips against the mattress for added friction on his half-hard cock.

“Obi-Wan-” he calls out, breathless, a hint of pain in his voice.

“Patience, my dear,” he responds. His voice is gentle, and Anakin can’t see the mischievous grin on his face as he holds his hips still so that he can’t touch the mattress beneath and bends down again.

He bites his ass cheek hard enough that Anakin yelps in pain, but he soothes it immediately by palming his balls and licking into his hole again, and the yelp turns into a moan, loud and desperate.

“Obi-Wan, please,” Anakin says in a broken whisper, turning his head slightly to glance down at him. His eyes are glossy, their blue looking even brighter against his darkened skin, and his mouth is flushed, probably from rubbing it against the pillow.

He looks so precious, wrecked by pleasure, desperate for release, and Obi-Wan is not ashamed to feel that everything he’s suffered in life is more than worth the privilege of being able to see Anakin like this. The Chosen One, the most powerful Jedi to ever exist, panting and moaning under his touch. The Separatist armies, the Sith, the entire damned galaxy tried and failed to break him, but Obi-Wan, only Obi-Wan, can make him beg.

Urgency tightens Obi-Wan’s stomach in a painful knot, desire burning through his body, and he lets all his want flow in the Force, into Anakin’s consciousness, a free fall of fuel into Anakin’s already crackling fire.

They move at the same time, in silent coordination. Obi-Wan moves his leg and Anakin rolls around on his back, sitting up just as Obi-Wan shifts to straddle him again and pulls him into a kiss. Obi-Wan cups Anakin’s head in his hands as he licks eagerly into his mouth, one hand caressing his cheek while the other slides towards the back to tangle in his hair, pulling it lightly as he tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth and Anakin’s right hand slides between them to push their erections one against the other.

“No,” Obi-Wan breaths out, pulling his mechno-hand away from their bodies and bringing it up to his mouth.

He’s aware of what he must look like, his face flushed and eyes dark, as he opens his lips and slides them onto two of Anakin’s fingers, swirling his tongue around their golden tips, slicking the durasteel with his saliva, and he can feel Anakin react to it in their bond, he can see his signature darken with a wild kind of hunger, that of a predator towards a trapped prey.

Obi-Wan pulls the fingers out of his mouth with an obscene pop of his lips, and he can’t hold back a grin, watching the way Anakin’s eyes widen as he brings his mechno-hand behind him and pushes his fingers inside of himself. He allows himself to melt into the sudden wave of pleasure that rises sharply as Anakin retakes control of his own limbs and starts finger fucking Obi-Wan, all the while leaning into his neck to bite and suck on it, in the spots he knows Obi-Wan likes.

“Fuck-” Obi-Wan moans into Anakin’s hair. He tries to catch his breath, only enough to pull off an entire sentence. “I want you to fuck me, Anakin,” he says, and Anakin’s fire flares again.

It’s been years, for Force’s sake, but hearing Obi-Wan say things like that, expressing his filthiest needs in that calm voice and sophisticated accent of his, still makes Anakin go feral just like the first time. He can sense the urgency below the calm, his desire buzzing through the Force, and all he wants is to give in to his demands.

“Like this?” Anakin asks, pulling back from Obi-Wan’s neck and eyeing the spot where he is straddling his lap, stretched out around his hand. He’s not hesitating, not even teasing, he’s just making sure that he understands completely how to better satisfy his former Master’s wishes.

Obi-Wan nods, letting his eagerness out in the Force, and shifts his body so that his hips tilt forward, moving away from Anakin’s hand and angling himself with his erection. “Like this,” he confirms. “So I can watch those pretty eyes of yours while you fuck me,” he adds, smiling fondly as he caresses the side of Anakin’s face.

Arousal and affection run through Anakin, his entire body buzzing at the praise spoken with a tone so heavily loaded with fondness and honesty that it takes his breath away. He recovers it by slanting his mouth over Obi-Wan’s, kissing him hungrily while the other slides down onto his cock.

They both gasp against each other, warm breaths mingling, overwhelmed by different yet connected feelings. Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to mind the friction, though it must be somewhat painful, his signature shines only with pleasure as he relaxes around Anakin’s length. Anakin wraps his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist, pulls him closer and pushes him further down onto himself, leaning his forehead against his and relishing in the way he feels, deliciously tight and scorching hot around his cock.

“You feel so good,” Anakin whispers into Obi-Wan’s ear, thrusting lightly up into him as he runs a hand through his hair and one down his back, around the curve of his ass, down his thigh.

Obi-Wan rolls his hips in response to Anakin’s thrust and moans into his neck.

“I love having you inside of me,” he says softly, trailing his lips along Anakin’s jawline and cheeks, kissing him in between every word, to then reach his lips and kiss him there, open mouth and lazy tongue, deliberately filthy.

Anakin thrusts into him again, as far as he can given their position, and his blood outright feels like it’s boiling with each of the moans he seems to pull out of Obi-Wan’s lips. He’d almost never heard him make these noises before they left Coruscant, and he still hasn’t got used to him expressing his pleasure so clearly and _loudly_. He can feel them reverberate through Obi-Wan’s chest and, with each one, a new wave of ecstasy is released in the Force and sent to lap at Anakin’s consciousness. It’s electrifying, intoxicating, and it fuels his hunger like little else can.

Whatever his arousal-flooded mind pictures doing to Obi-Wan has to wait, since it’s Obi-Wan who remains in control, and he underlines it by pushing Anakin’s down on the bed and shifting so that he can bend his legs in a more comfortable position for riding.

He steadies himself by propping a hand on Anakin’s stomach and the other on his thigh, and he starts rolling his hips onto Anakin’s cock. Anakin reaches out to hold him by his hips, his mechno-hand gripping him so hard it’ll probably leave bruises, and matches his movements with light upward thrusts.

Obi-Wan throws his head back and smiles at the ceiling and he feels drunk, on him and on pleasure and on freedom. The sea breeze flows in from the open window, pleasantly fresh on his heated skin, and there’s no haste in his movements, the only urgency brought by desire for release, and nothing to hold him back from releasing his feelings into the Force, flares of ecstasy as he shifts to have Anakin hit just the right spot inside of him. He cries out in pleasure at it and he gasps as he feels Anakin respond to the sound with a deeper thrust.

Anakin pushes into Obi-Wan and grins wildly at the sounds he makes. He stares up at him unafraid of how stupid his expression must look, in awe of how fucking beautiful Obi-Wan looks, his lightly tanned chest heaving and flushed red and glinting with sweat, his head thrown back to expose his neck, which pulses with every moan. His arms are strained with the effort of keeping himself upright, but the rest of him radiates only pleasure in blinding bursts that merge with Anakin’s own bliss.

He doesn’t realise how loud his thoughts are until Obi-Wan looks down at him, eyes glinting and cheeks flushed and a sheepish smile on his lips.

Obi-Wan chuckles and shakes his head lightly in disbelief. How absurd, he thinks, that Anakin would think _him_ beautiful, when he looks like a deity himself, perfect bronzed skin and shining golden hair spread on the pillow matching the glow of his Force signature, that now ripples with the most tender infatuation. He wants to say so, but Anakin seems to intercept his thought before it even reaches his lips.

He reaches up to grab Obi-Wan’s neck and pull him down, while he props himself up to meet him half-way in a kiss.

“Don’t you even dare,” Anakin says. “You look amazing. Fuck, you _are_ amazing,” he all but growls, his grip on his neck tightening, cutting off Obi-Wan’s breath for a second.

Obi-Wan gasps, both for lack of air and the strength behind Anakin’s words, and he blushes bright red, struggling not to avert his eyes in embarrassment but keeping them fixed into Anakin’s, enraptured by the way they burn with intense honesty. He doesn’t want to deny what Anakin is saying because he can feel how much he means it, in his grasp and on his face and in the Force exuding from him, so he just responds by leaning in for a kiss and letting his own feelings pour out in their bond.

Affection, desire, adoration, lust, admiration. A steady stream flooding Anakin’s consciousness, and he doesn’t need to specify what all of that can be summarised as, because Anakin can sense it perfectly in the Force bubbling around them, but he does it anyway, cradling Anakin’s face in his hands to whisper it on his lips.

“I love you so much.”

Anakin reacts instinctively, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist to hold him close to his chest, bending his legs to pull him up even further, innocently, not realising how deep that would make him thrust into Obi-Wan until he hears him gasp and swear loudly, as pleasure spikes from his side of the bond.

“Oh, fuck me!” Obi-Wan exclaims, panting into Anakin’s shoulder.

“Was that-?” Anakin starts asking, but Obi-Wan interrupts him by raising his head and pointing a burning gaze into his eyes.

“No, I mean it, Anakin. Fuck me, please,” he says, his voice a low growl, eyelashes fluttering over blown out pupils to glance at Anakin from below.

And Anakin doesn’t hesitate a second longer.

Reaching out into the Force for balance, he manages to turn them around, slamming Obi-Wan into the mattress and bringing his legs over his shoulders as he thrusts into him as deep as possible. Obi-Wan throws his head back onto the pillows and groans in satisfaction as his entire body seems to sink into the soft bed. 

“Fuck, yes,” he breaths out when Anakin does it again, and as he picks up a steady pace of long, deep thrusts, Obi-Wan is just left gasping for breath and moaning each time Anakin hits his prostate.

Anakin leans in to suck on his neck, and in turn Obi-Wan takes the chance to grab his hair, twist them in his hand and pull them. They both can feel the other’s pleasure rise, white noise filling their heads as ripples of light start pulsing through the Force around them, dancing around each other, as if their souls were merging just as their bodies are.

Their connection allows them to know what to push and how much and when they’re close without having to speak. That’s why Anakin knows when it’s the perfect moment to wrap his mechno-fingers around Obi-Wan’s erection, softly, the gesture made that much more intimate by the knowledge that it could hurt immensely if Anakin wanted it to.

He starts stroking him just as he feels his elation grow, swell, soar in the Force that binds them together, and he can sense the added pleasure mix with his own. His other hand goes to rest just below his neck, impeding his already frantic breathing without cutting off the airflow, and he leans above him to stare at his face and watch as his eyes darken and widen, as his lips open in a perfect ‘o’ shape and tremble with each moan, as his cheeks redden and his forehead sweats.

Again, he can’t help thinking of how beautiful he is, completely abandoned to Anakin’s care, lost in pleasure, with little to no control over his body or his mind or his connection to the living Force. He lets his consciousness expand with no limits, for once unafraid of who else might be close enough to perceive it, only caring about opening it up to Anakin, for Anakin, the same way he does with his body.

And so Anakin reaches into him, mentally and physically. He thrusts and strokes, slow and steady, and gently carries Obi-Wan beyond the threshold of bliss, and the pleasure he causes reflects into him, dragging him along in its stride.

They’re staring into each other eyes, mirroring fondness in their smiles, as they both come, at the same time, and ecstasy explodes inside of them and all around, in matching gasps and moans and incoherent whispers that fill the quiet, in light and warmth that engulfs their hazy minds, through Anakin’s fingers and deep into Obi-Wan.

Anakin falls gently at Obi-Wan’s side and pulls him with him, into him, pressing their foreheads together, rubbing his nose against his, kissing him softly, drinking in the sweet and sour smell of exertion that exudes from his skin, unwilling to move away just yet. Obi-Wan is more than happy to indulge him, moving only to tangle their legs together and caress the wet hair behind Anakin’s ears.

They both need a shower and some breakfast and probably to change the bedsheets before they stain with sweat, but it’s hard to think about all that when Anakin summons the shutters closed and the room is plunged back into a soft dim-light, and the bed is so comfortable, and their bodies and minds feel deliciously slack in the afterglow.

With the last bit of strength before sleep claims him again, Anakin looks up at Obi-Wan, brushes his lips against his and breaths out a whisper, barely louder than the sound of the waves from outside.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Context? Plot? No, thank you.  
> I hope you enjoyed this anyway. If you want to tell me in a comment I will be very very happy. 
> 
> As always, thanks to Elisa for allowing me to rant about sex positions and feelings and stuff.
> 
> This might turn into a collection in the same vague au, or it might not. Who knows. Not me.


End file.
